


Drippy Fucking Dies

by Skeer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29173401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeer/pseuds/Skeer
Summary: Literally just some angsty shit I wrote a while ago and I'm now posting because why not? It's very short tho.Hermaphrodite character who uses he/him pronouns





	Drippy Fucking Dies

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy :)   
> He's basically a fucking female ferret

Everything was hazy. His thoughts, the world around him, and every single little noise his head couldn't even begin to make out. The only thing he could register was the unbearable warmth similar to that of the heat of being plunged into a pool of molten lava, then there was the emptiness. The feeling of nothing between his legs that screamed at him to move, to find anyone and let them fuck him into next week. He wanted to follow that command, to get up, but he couldn't do more than writhe in his nest made up of soft blankets and pillows. 

Drippy didn't understand why it was so soft, didn't understand where he was, nor did he know why someone wasn't just using him. The only thing he knew was that he'd failed. He hadn't managed to attract a mate. No matter how much he squirmed, yelled, and cried out for someone to just claim him, nobody came. 

"Am I that tainted?" He thought to himself, almost sobbing from distress as another of many high pitched keens left him. Yet still, nobody came. "Of course I am! I'm nothing but a feasted from, rotting ferret. Nothing would want this!" The half melted ink demon snarled, which was interrupted by a choked sob only moments later. 

He could feel the heat boiling him alive and the sudden feeling of bitter pain when tiny claws raked down his arms. He looked down blearily, taking a few moments to process the fact that he was seeing his own hands tearing him apart and letting the amethyst colored blood rush out. "When did that happen?" Drippy mused to himself, hardly having the energy to pull his hands away from the fresh wounds. He couldn't feel them, couldn't even smell what was sure to be the harsh smell of his own blood in the air.   
But then again, did it even matter? No mate found him worthy of their time, and he was left to burn up and seize in agony alone, all by himself. It was funny, he thought, that he was born alone and in the end he'd die that way. Drippy chuckled to himself and, rather than let out another pleading call, let himself crumple into his nest, giving into the boiling heat and the nothingness that death would eventually bring.


End file.
